


A Loose End

by THA_THUMPP



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alexandria Safe-Zone, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Awkward Aaron, Bottom Rick, Boys Will Be Boys, Daryl Will Try To Be Neighborly, Daryl is a Lemming, Eric Is Such A Bae, Gullible Eric, Kitchen Sex - almost, M/M, Neighbors, Rick Will Be Judge Jury & Executioner, Rick is a Tease, Slow Build, Strip Tease, Top Daryl, Without The Music, keeping secrets
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-06
Updated: 2015-03-06
Packaged: 2018-03-16 01:03:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3468632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/THA_THUMPP/pseuds/THA_THUMPP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rick can't sleep and neither can Daryl. While taking a late night stroll together, they reach somewhat of a mutual understanding about Alexandria and then sneak off to the vacant house next door to get it on. In the heat of the moment and completely caught off guard, <em>somebody</em> sees them through the open blinds of the living room window, leaving them with their pants down on how to tie up this "loose end" before any word can get out.</p><p>If it's not walkers, it's privacy... they just can't win, can they?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Loose End

**Author's Note:**

> Expect future chapters to be halved in length... we seriously went to town on this prologue. Let us know what you think or just snicker silently, either way thanks so much for reading! Here's a smiley: ･ ◡ ･

The light of the moon is all Rick needs to lead him safely through the house. It’s bright, encompassing, and everything he’s used to. With one foot after the other, he weaves among the bodies scattered across the floor like a den of wolves, careful not to make a sound as he moves towards the front door. He’s successful for the most part, putting a few creaks behind him in the floorboards and making just as many in front of him as he turns the knob and upsets the hinges, but since there’s nothing he can really do about it he simply goes through with it.

Curving his shoulders forward in a subconscious gesture of not wanting to be heard, Rick proceeds to slip outside. Closing the door behind him proves to be more forgiving, but he still uses the same amount of caution until it clicks shut, only then letting go and turning around to greet the nighttime air. It feels cool on his skin, most noticeably on his baby-smooth chin, and he rubs a hand against it, under it, and down his neck before finally bringing both palms over his whole face as if to scrub the sleep from his eyes.

A small thump to his left catches his attention and he spins to confront it, dropping one hand to his belt seconds before remembering that he had to surrender his gun at the gate. He curls his lips reproachfully – but soon relaxingly – when noticing that it’s just Daryl leaning against the railing of the porch. Smoking. The cherry of his cigarette stands out the most when he takes a deep drag, and Rick admires how the glow sharpens some of his features before walking closer.

“Can’t sleep?” Rick’s boots thud like soft heartbeats as he treads across the timber of the deck.

Seeing as Daryl doesn’t jump like a cat on a hot tin roof, Rick guesses that the man already knows it’s him and uses that awareness to rest against the railing, too. Placing a hand first, then his body. He glances down at his watch during the minute it takes Daryl to blow out his intake of smoke, reading the time as twelve to midnight with the help of the moonlight.

“Too quiet to.” Daryl shrugs oafishly to the question, keeping his head forward before snuffing the tip of his cigarette out on the handrail, listening to it sizzle against the dry wood like water in a pan. “Don’ feel right.”

Rick nods to himself. He knows the feeling. Two days at this safe-zone and he’s still making a habit of waking up at odd hours in the night. He blames the constant nag in the back of his mind telling him to be watchful and not let his guard down, that there’s a big difference between being told _you’re safe_ and _feeling_ _safe_. It doesn’t help either that he’s trying to keep up appearances with the neighborhood, trying to keep a low profile.

Though, speaking of appearances…

“Daryl.” Rick taps Daryl’s arm when the smell of smoke starts to reach his nose. “Up.” He motions at the cigarette with his chin.

Responsively, Daryl lifts the butt away from the handrail, revealing a burn mark atop the paint. The damage is more than noticeable, having already eaten a hole about the size of a penny without supervision, and Daryl slowly starts picking at what he’s done, trying to cover up his mistake with his bitten-short and dirty thumbnail. Except that only makes it worse.

“Sorry.” Daryl mutters, like he kinda regrets he did it in the first place or that the silent treatment he’s getting is Rick’s means of judging him for vandalism. “Think I saw a can’a paint ‘round back.” He doesn’t wait any more than five ticks from Rick’s wristwatch before he pushes himself away from the railing with a grunt. “I’ll shave it down, add a coat or two… Won’t even know it’s there.”

Rick hums in pursuit as Daryl starts trekking down the steps like he’s just been self-assigned a task, descending himself after a beat or two. Unhurriedly.

There’s something about this place, about the idea of not having to hide from danger, that makes it strange. Strange in a good way and a bad way, but tonight it’s good. The stillness of the community is just what Rick needs for his overactive mind and he wanders across the front lawn to the end of the driveway, where he stands long enough for Daryl to return from the rear of the house with a can of paint and a brush in-hand.

“It’s a start.” Rick says into the silence, appreciating how Daryl might be subconsciously trying to fit in from the bottom of his heart. There’s a pause behind him as he finishes speaking and he can hear the faint sound of the supplies being set down on the deck stairs.

“You say somethin’?” Daryl calls out in a whisper, seeing as it’s late.

“No.” Rick replies back in a similar tone as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his bistre-colored jacket, turning around to make sure he still has Daryl’s attention before motioning towards the street with his body. “Let’s take a walk.”

Before Daryl can argue, Rick starts out on foot, trusting that he’ll be followed. A few seconds later he is. Daryl’s on his heels in a matter of paces, crossbow characteristically slung over his shoulder and a look on his face that says he’d rather fix the porch than see the sights. It’s a look Rick only glimpses as he slows down, but he knows it’s there to stay unless he does something to change it.

Thankfully enough, it doesn’t take much coaxing. The echoes of night do most of the work as they wander the streets. Nearly all of the sounds they hear have them hugging shoulder-to-shoulder by the middle of their walk, including the remote howl of a coyote somewhere in the distance. During the last few blocks of returning to their neighborhood they’re a little more at ease though, and agreeably put some legroom between them to save themselves the trouble of bumping knees.

Only, that all changes when a trashcan topples over loudly, not against the cement but close by in the grass.

Daryl’s the first to react, turning towards the noise and stepping in front of Rick with his crossbow up like a bodyguard, forgetting there’s no ammo in his quiver. Not inside the gates.

Rick smiles quietly when the man huffs something like a held breath when realizing it’s just a dog. He’s also happy when Daryl refrains from making an attempt to knife it, smiling wider when imagining how he’d have to tell their _neighbors_ that they skinned and ate their pet for breakfast.

“You gotta loosen up, Daryl.” Rick says as they start walking again, continuing from where they left off. “I know you don’t like this place, that you feel you don’t fit in, but I think we should give it a chance. Maybe even come to think of it as our home…” He shrugs, feeling his shoulders unburdened for once. “Until proven otherwise, I think it’s our best bet for survival.”

“Home?” Daryl snorts as he pulls ahead, disappointment in each step.

Rick hears it and hurriedly throws his dominant hand out to catch Daryl by the elbow before he’s too far-flung. “Hey.” As Daryl breaks mid-stride, Rick moves in front of him. “We’re the ones who make home what it is… and if you feel like an outcast _we_ can change that. Together. We’re family, Daryl. All of us.”

A light breeze sweeps both their faces before the air falls still. Heavy. Like a good hunter, Daryl senses the tension and he pulls away from Rick, going off course for a few feet. He bends down to pick up a short branch to bide the time, chipping it into little pieces with his fingers for something to do, to show he’s uncomfortable. Rick takes the hint that he’s being too pushy and sighs as they resume walking in silence again. It isn’t until they round another curb and start down the next block that Daryl finally decides to speak up.

“Lil’ ass kicker. Yer boy…” Daryl keeps his eyes on the now two-inch twig in his grasp. He tries to break it down one more time before he says anything else, but he’s met with some resistance. “I’m stayin’ fer them. Fer _you_ …” He droops his head a little when the twig still doesn’t give, no sooner chucking whatever’s left of it like a baseball to the wind. “Not fer me. An’ definitely not fer some goody-goody paper ad that might turn out’ta be a lie.”

The twig clatters audibly and hollowly against a mailbox up ahead. Daryl scoffs in good humor through his mouth at his accidental aim, only realizing after he turns around that Rick stopped following a few words ago and is now staring at him like he’s just been proposed to.

Daryl adjusts his crossbow over his shoulder like he does when he’s not used to the attention, trying not to feel embarrassed as he looks elsewhere. “Ya sure y’know where we’re goin’?” He flicks a wrist at the rows of houses as a diversion, already knowing they’ve just went in one, big circle because he can clearly see their address right there. To their right. “All these lots’re startin’ta look the damn same.”

Rick doesn’t let his eyes follow where Daryl motions, too conscious of the man’s habit to change subjects and get away with it if given words first. Instead, as composedly as he can, he sways himself up to him and presses their lips together for a kiss. There’s a soft grunt from Daryl, who almost goes cross-eyed when trying to find Rick’s angle, to make eye contact. Rick sees the loss of nerve on Daryl’s face, the hesitation, but after he opens his mouth wider to entice the man in he’s accepted anyways.

Closing his eyes, Daryl kisses back. He grips Rick’s jaw like a wet fish he’s afraid to let slip before plunging his tongue in, all the way. Rick moans at the sensation, fluttering his lashes. It feels so damn good to have something wiggling around inside of him. Something hot, something he’s _missed_. Rick can’t speak for Daryl, but not having felt each other since losing Beth has left him touch-starved. Bless her soul, but he needs this. He wants Daryl to need this, too.

“Next door is vacant…” Rick pants against Daryl’s lips before pulling away, out of reach.

As Daryl tries to lean forward and claim his mouth again, Rick meanders a few more steps back, towards the driveway of the second house they were given. The empty house. He keeps his eyes on Daryl the whole time as he walks backwards, footing placed toe to heel as he starts to take off his jacket in the process, enjoying how the man follows like a lemming. Entranced.

Against the quiet hush of night, the snick of Rick’s zipper being drawn sounds like a purr. Daryl mocks it with an amused grumble, surprised that Rick’s acting like a seductress, that he’s trying to lure him into comfort with his body, but also not giving two shits. He stares readily as Rick ascends the porch before suggestively tossing his stripped jacket in front of him, at the bottom of the steps like a welcome mat.

“Now you.” Rick says, accent thick with lust.

Still standing a few feet away, Daryl lifts his crossbow from his shoulders and ducks his head through the sling with ease, thumbing at it once before propping it against his leg so he can use both his hands. “What the hell.” He smirks as he works himself out of his vest quicker than Rick’d shed his jacket, bunching it in ball once it’s off and tossing it a little higher on the steps, in a line leading to Rick.

Rick tries to stop grinning as he takes another step back, wiggling his left boot from his foot by skillfully stepping on the heel with his right. It slips off without much of a struggle and he leaves it where it slumps as another placeholder. Daryl intuitively follows the rules of the game and kneels down to fist at his laces, loosening whatever knots have been made over months of being on the road.

Once they’re roomy enough to be removed, Daryl kicks them off and tosses his right shoe first – this time _at_ Rick, who barely catches it before it clunks the wood at full volume. He snorts at Daryl’s boldness, holding it like he’s seen the man do strung squirrels as he removes his own right foot from his boot next. Daryl obviously gets the reference and huffs a laugh, during which he chucks his left shoe.

Rick misses that one and ends up dropping both of them in his fumble, cringing as they tumble in hollow bounces against the deck.

“Nice one, butterfingers.” Daryl jokes quietly as he finally makes his way up the porch steps, already halfway done unbuttoning his undershirt.

“Shut up.” Rick smacks at Daryl’s chest once it’s bare before getting topless himself. He drops his shirt with Daryl’s at their feet, stacking them into a small mound, like an anthill of cloth.

Somehow, they manage to keep their hands off each other until they push into the house, but once the front door creaks shut there’s no stopping them. Their belts go next, then their jeans. Turning the lights on doesn’t even cross their minds as they stumble into the kitchen, they’d rather not get in the habit of relying on such things. For right now, their trained eyes are enough… or so they think.

Ten-feet into the kitchen, Daryl accidentally elbows a loose pile of pans that haven’t been put away since yesterday. A few of them topple from the counter in a series of metallic bangs and rolls, causing Daryl and Rick to flinch. But that’s it. As soon as the clanging stops, the only other sound to be heard throughout the house is them kissing. Daryl’s back on Rick’s lips, being shushed by him each time they break apart.

“We still gotta… keep our… voices down.”

“I… don’t.” Daryl pants once before pinning Rick to the island counter with his body. His fully _naked_ body. “So if ya don’ wanna be heard, ya best bite yer tongue when I make ya cum.”

Rick shivers against Daryl’s sinewy jaw at the dirty talk, so taken by desire that he almost forgets this is a clean kitchen. But as he does remember in the midst of having his ass fondled in a hoist, he grabs both of Daryl’s wrists in a halt.

“Wait… not here.” Rick shakes what he can of his head that’s pressing against Daryl’s forehead, indicating he has more to say before he leans into the man’s closest ear and guides his hands down to his cock, which’s starting to leak with precum. “My kids’re gonna be eatin’ food off this counter.”

The whole group would, actually. Meaning, the last thing any of them need is semen in their cereal. Whether Daryl _looks_ like he understands that or not is debatable, but Rick guesses that the way he’s pulled into the next room is an answer in itself.

Now in the living room, Daryl skips right over the couch and goes straight for the dormant fireplace. He shoves Rick against it like it’s their source of warmth, aligning their bodies chest to back. With Daryl behind him, Rick can hear the man take a long inhale at the base of his skull, smelling all the new and foreign scents of shaving cream and soap. That only goes for one of them, but Rick’s not gonna complain. After this, he’s gonna smell like Daryl either way. Dirty.

Rick pushes his ass out, back against Daryl at the thought of mingling everything about them. Their sweat, their saliva, their juices. He’s ready for foreplay and isn’t afraid to show how Daryl’s already making him feel hot and bothered, wanting to be touched. Forget raiding the closest bathroom for lubricant, the only greaser they’ve ever needed is on hand, something that works just as well. Spit and licked-down fingers.

Like a mind reader, Daryl’s one step ahead of him. He teases Rick’s anus with a moist finger when it’s rolled back in a presentation, enjoying how Rick’s inner muscles clench down around his digit and try to push it out. He waits to hear Rick’s breathing break even before adding a second finger, scissoring them in union now and treasuring the sounds that follow. The grunts and groans, they’re like a song that never gets old.

Rick rises up on his toes against the sill of the fireplace, catching himself inches from falling head over heels as Daryl adds a third finger, then a forth. It feels like he’s been aching for this forever, slowly beginning to ache for something bigger, fleshier. For Daryl’s cock, for it to stuff up inside him so deep that even when it’s out he’ll still feel full for a whole week.

Rick lets out a heated moan at the idea as Daryl changes the movement of his fingers, oiling his hole further with varied twists, and sending mixed pain and pleasure to his brain in waves. He lapses down on Daryl’s hand at a particularly strong sensation, emptying his lungs while trying not to tense before rising onto the balls of his feet again. It happens one more time before he starts to feel more relaxed instead of just dry friction.

“I’m ready.” Rick pants, wiping the corner of his mouth on his shoulder as he repositions his hands and feet in anticipation, in a wider stance to give Daryl some room.

Daryl grunts in acknowledgment, pulls his fingers out, then glides his cock in seconds later. Rick chokes between a swallow and an adoring gasp as he’s entered, sensing how his muscles clinch around Daryl’s length, taking him all in, slowly, at a speed they both know works. It’s just a matter of getting past the penetration, because no matter the measure of unwinding, it’s always gonna be the same. It’s still gonna hurt.

“I’ll never… get used to this.” Rick grits as his whole body bows forward and his insides sear with heat.

“Ya wanna change up?”

“On the floor?” Rick laughs weakly. “No. I’m not cowgirlin’ you.”

“Ya sure?” Daryl teases their hips in a roll. “It worked that one other time.”

Rick draws in a long, steady breath at the memory of them in a thicket during a run, dehydrated grass in places he never knew he had, before returning Daryl’s stir with a little more force as if to draw the line. “You’re not gettin’ your way.”

“Then stop complainin’.”

“Then get movin’.” Rick mocks as he manipulates Daryl to plunge inside him once, showing he’s had more than enough time to adjust. “Come on.”

Daryl’s pulse quickens in his chest like a colt that’s just loped an acre, the words stimulating in themselves. He presses a hand into the small of Rick’s back, retracting himself as much as needed to thrust in for another try. A try on _his_ terms. Rick closes his eyes as Daryl continues the motions of in and out, letting him find a rhythm first before attempting to meet it. It takes a few alternating stabs, but after a couple more they’re in sync.

As Daryl drives forward, Rick gives him the control. He lets Daryl lead, fist the tight skin of his hipbones and use them for direction, force his head down between his shoulders so his back can have that perfect arch, chafe a hand over whatever the hell he pleases thereafter. His cock, his balls. With their bodies flushed and slapping less than two seconds apart, it’s not long before Rick can feel his orgasm peaking.

“I’m… hmmm.” Rick blacks out the last part of his sentence as the welling pressure inside him stretches from between his thighs to the stem of his brain, hazing his vision and shutting off his thoughts.

Clarity’s near, he can feel it. He just needs to stop holding out, to let himself reach the edge and go over the threshold, to finally liberate the heaviness cramping and weighing his body down like bedrock. They both do. Daryl with his loose and guttural panting as he also hastens for his climax, how the more time passes it sounds breathless and harsh, and Rick with everything in between. They need this, and after another minute of pounding they get it.

Daryl releases a sloppy moan into Rick’s short hair as he cums, mouth refusing to close as he cherishes the brief seconds of elation that wash over him. It’s a short experience, but on many levels so fucking satisfying. Rick can agree and practically hangs himself from the hearth. His legs feel numb, his body exhausted, like he’s just been drained of energy, shared all of it with Daryl, given the man every bit of him he can.

Rick hears Daryl laugh groggily behind him, sensing how the man rests his forehead against his back, how his whiskers tickle the surface of his skin.

“Round two?” Daryl asks, still catching his breath as he reaches around to Rick’s cock as if he’s trying to milk a cow, showing he’s still frisky and the night’s still young.

“Count to sixty first…” Rick replies, having to summon a little more air in his lungs to be heard through the scratch in his voice. His throat’s begging him to reconsider but since his body still wants more, to be purged of control, that’s what he’s gonna listen to.

Or, at least, _would’ve_ _listened_ _to_ if Daryl hadn’t tensed behind him.

“…Rick.”

“What?” Rick tenses too, not knowing whether Daryl’s having second thoughts or something’s wrong, but after the man’s next five words his mind makes itself and his color drains, figuratively losing months of the tan he’s earned from the sun.

“There’s somebody outside the window.”

Rick snaps his head to where Daryl’s looking at the exact same time Aaron glances up from the top step outside on the porch, looking like a deer in the headlights when he notices them both. Naked. They watch through the pane as Aaron’s eyes go a little wider and his Adam’s apple bobs in a hard swallow before he turns around, hightails it down the deck staircase, across the front lawn, left onto the street, and outta sight in a pace three steps from a run.

“Dammit…”

“Sonuvabitch!”

“Daryl!” Rick hisses through a cringe as Daryl pulls out without warning and dashes across the room to collect whatever he can of his clothes. “…Christ.”

Before long, Rick’s scrounging too. He stumbles around the couch like he has two left feet, searching for his jeans on the floor first. He finds them after a third rummage, hearing Daryl already jumping his up, huffing in frustration each time his belt buckle slaps the sensitive skin of his hips. Rick flinches himself as he steps into the legs of his jeans, finding a tribulation of his own, and barely has his second foot in by the time Daryl’s hustling towards the door.

“You comin’—”

“Go!”

Daryl’s outside faster than Rick can wave him on. Still shirtless, he snatches for his crossbow he left on the porch before flying down the steps and into the yard, tightly gripping it in-hand like he’s set on using it. If not for pegging, then clubbing. But luckily for Aaron, he’s already flown the coop, nowhere to be seen on the street.

“We gonna go after ‘im?!” Daryl calls out, forgetting what time it is.

“No!” Rick harks from the doorway, finishing up his zipper before stiffly walking down the steps, one hand on the rail as a guide, unafraid to show he’s sore. More so, to stress how they separated isn’t something he wants to go through again. “Leave him.”

“What?” Daryl starts stomping back to Rick’s side, looking like he’s ready to pursue no matter what. “Why?”

“It’s late…” Rick glances down at his watch on his bare arm. “ _Early_.” He corrects himself before nodding towards their scattered shirts and shoes that still need collecting on the porch. “Let him run… He can’t hide. We’ll get him in the mornin’.”

**Author's Note:**

> Run, Aaron...... RUUUUUUNNNN!!!!!!


End file.
